


Imprint

by silverluminosity, thatsmistertoyou



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative soulmate situations, Angst, First Meetings, Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phandom Big Bang, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, idk what else to call it, phandom big bang 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverluminosity/pseuds/silverluminosity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmistertoyou/pseuds/thatsmistertoyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil turns 18, Dan’s name appears on his wrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Original A/N: We’re just as sorry as you’re gonna be. Huge shoutouts go to Spencer and Alice for tolerating our procrastination and being tremendously helpful. And rad. <3  
> Written for Phandom Big Bang 2.

_January, 2005_

His parents had insisted that it wasn’t a good idea to stare at the clock.

“Just go to sleep, like always,” his mum had said, her hand resting over his as they sat opposite one another at the kitchen table. “I know you’re excited, but if you wait up, you’ll just spend the entire night thinking about whatever shows up, and you won’t get any sleep at all. Besides, when you wake up in the morning, it will be there waiting for you. Just like a present.”

Except Phil wasn’t excited. He was terrified.

And it was 11:59, and he certainly wasn’t sleeping, but he wasn’t staring at the clock, either. (His mother had been wrong on all counts.) He knew exactly what time it was -the voice in his head had been keeping count for over five minutes now. His eyes were fixed, unblinking, on the small, smooth patch of skin on the inside of his right wrist.

Thirty seconds.

His mouth had gone dry, and he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. The date snuck up on him, really. He’d spent the entire month of January telling himself he had plenty of time, that it was all the way at the end of the month, no need to start worrying prematurely. And it was the same thing he told himself until he woke up on January 29th and went into a panic.

Twenty seconds.

It was a Saturday, and he’d spent the whole day rushing frantically around his house and getting absolutely nothing accomplished - opening his closet and vehemently rearranging it until he abandoned the project halfway through; walking all the way across the house to go and play a videogame before deciding against it because there was no way he could focus - so by the time evening fell, he bade his family goodnight and retired to his bedroom early, and sat on the bed and waited.

Ten seconds.

What if he never found the person? What if - god forbid - they didn’t love each other or, worse, couldn’t stand each other, and had to split up and he had to find someone else? What would his mother say?

Five seconds.

 _You know why you’re really worried,_  the voice in his head said.

Zero.

Phil held his breath as the marks appeared like blood flowing through his veins, a blue-purple network of tiny lines. It bloomed like a bruise under the skin, an ethereal time-lapse, forming a name written in all capital letters. He stared at the letters until they made sense, until the scrawling ink finally sank in, the weight of what was written pooling like lead in his stomach.

“Dan,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

 _Oh, no_.

x

 As it turned out, his mother had been right about one thing - Phil didn’t sleep a wink.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning in a cold sweat, unable to find a comfortable position and unable to calm his racing heart, all the while angrily telling himself he shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have known all along -  _had_  known, really - but he had stewed so completely in his denial that the realization still had him flat on his back.

The proof of it would not be silenced. It permeated everything he did, that voice in his head - Southern and lilting and distinctly  _male_. The voice of a boy whose name was now permanently inscribed on his wrist.

 _Call him by his name,_  Dan’s voice said.  _Might as well get used to it, yeah? You’re already fucked. Well and truly fucked._

Phil moved to throw his arm over his face as if he could somehow block out his own thoughts, but the movement came up short when the flash of ink on his wrist caught his eye, and he stuffed his arm down under the duvet.

 _Don’t be childish,_ Dan’s voice said, pityingly.  _It won’t cease to exist just because you can’t see it._

“Shut up,” Phil hissed, to no one.

The sun was slowly creeping up over the horizon, casting a soft, pink light into the room through the window. Phil watched in silence as the light solidified and brightened until his eyes were watering but he didn’t look away, just staring as the harsh winter glare permeated his bedroom, sharpening the angles of the furniture and washing over the bedspread and glinting off the mirror.

Everything was silent, except for the inside of his own head.

 _It’s not so bad,_  Dan’s voice told him.  _Loads of people are gay._

Except Phil wasn’t gay. Couldn’t be. He’d been into girls for as long as he could remember.

 _Kind of gay, then,_ the voice said.  _A little gay. ‘More than incidentally homosexual.’ You took the Kinsey test back in the day, don’t you remember? This isn’t exactly news._

Phil could smell the gentle aroma of pancakes wafting up from downstairs, and he’d have to get up soon, probably. But his body was heavy, and his limbs felt like lead. Especially the arm that was still buried under the duvet.

_You can’t stay in bed forever._

It was a monumental effort, getting out of bed. It took him at least five minutes to pull his arm out from under the covers, and even then, he didn’t look at his wrist. Instead, he went straight over to stand in front of his dresser and rifled through his top drawer with his left hand, the other tucked awkwardly behind his back, until he came up with several old rubber bracelets. He pulled them onto his right wrist, locking eyes with his own reflection. It would raise a few eyebrows, and certainly wouldn’t keep his family, or Louise, or anyone who mattered, from bringing it up - but it would do.

But the obstructions didn’t keep Phil from staring at his own wrist as he got dressed, walked down the stairs, and took a seat at the kitchen table beside his brother.

Martyn immediately glanced at the bracelets, searching for what was beneath them, but he pretended he hadn’t done it when Phil looked up at him.

“Happy birthday, Phil!” he said, wrapping an arm around his little brother’s shoulders and giving a playfully hard squeeze. His mother snuck up behind him and placed a large plate of pancakes in the middle of the table before pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to Phil’s cheek.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart! I can’t believe you’re eighteen already,” she said, sitting down opposite them at the table.

“Yeah, thanks,” Phil muttered, and he made a move for his fork, but immediately dropped his arm to his lap.

“So, what did the Soulmate Fairy bring you, eh?” Martyn encouraged, nudging Phil in the ribs with his elbow.

“Martyn!” his mum scolded. “It’s impolite to ask and you know that. Phil will tell us when he’s good and ready.”

“It’s a boy,” Phil said immediately, before he changed his mind, and watched the words sink into their brains and click. “His name’s Dan. He’s from the South, judging by his accent.”

“Well,” his mum began, after a long pause. “I didn’t really expect that, but - okay. Okay. That’s okay.”

His brother, on the other hand, was silent for several agonizing moments. Phil forced himself to look at him, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

“You had better keep that covered,” Martyn said, very quietly.

 _“Martyn,”_ their mother hissed. “I didn’t raise you to think that way.”

“I don’t think that way,” Martyn said simply, talking to his mother but looking straight at Phil with an unreadable expression. “But other people do.”

                                               x

_December, 2006_

‘The personal fable’ had become Phil’s bedtime story. It was probably the only thing he knew about psychology, and really the only thing he needed to know about it. Louise had explained the concept to him last year when she took some kind of developmental psychology class at Uni - it was a phenomenon that usually only applied to teenagers, where the person imagined that everyone was concerned about and paying attention only to them.

And Phil knew it was stupid, but he felt like everyone around him knew he was different, now that he’d been forced to admit it to himself. As if they could smell the queer on him and just  _know._

It was the end of December, so the weather was the usual English standard of bitterly cold and depressingly wet. It hadn’t snowed yet, but it was still cold enough for everyone to be bundled up to their ears, so no one in their right mind would have bare wrists. Phil pulled his sleeves down further over his hands.

His skin crawled like it was physically uncomfortable for him to wear it. He wanted to shed it, leave behind that name scrawled on his wrist and everything it carried with it. Phil clenched his fists in his pockets when he thought of how the weather wouldn’t allow him to wear long sleeves forever. He needed something to cover the damn thing up with. Something other than the rubber bracelets. They were clunky and inconvenient and attracted way too much attention. Phil knew that there were companies that sold small, flesh-coloured, plaster-like things that could be worn over an undesirable tattoo. A ‘concealer’, colloquially. The companies advertised ‘discreet packaging’ like they were sex toys. Phil sighed.

But the concealer would have to wait, because he had a paper to write and the Wi-Fi in his apartment left much to be desired. He knew the coffee shop near the lecture halls was crowded, but he had no time to be picky, and there was a small booth near the back that faced away from the wall, providing him privacy from any prying eyes when he inevitably got distracted from his essay.

Besides, he had until the weather warmed up.

Phil placed his order and claimed his booth - which was miraculously empty, due primarily to the fact that the previous occupant had spilled what seemed to be a double-shot espresso all over the table - while he waited, mopping up the black sludge with a napkin, plugging his laptop into the wall, and closing the lid most of the way. He ambled back to the counter and joined the throng of other students waiting for their caffeine fix.

“Caramel macchiato!” the barista called out, waving the drink in the air like some kind of flag of surrender. Phil squeezed through the small crowd to the counter, his ‘thank you’ poised on his tongue, when another hand reached for the cup at the same time.

Phil’s hand closed around the drink first, but this stranger’s fingers wrapped around his, over his, crosshatching and closing his fingers against the heat of the coffee. But the sensation lost out to the press of skin on skin - like static jumping across fabric, frissons of light sparking along his nerve endings and shivering up the tendons in his arm - and Phil pulled his hand away like he’d been burned, the drink crashing to the counter and the lid popping off, scalding liquid spilling across the granite and dripping to the floor.

Normally, Phil would have scrambled for napkins to clean up the mess, muttering apologies and waving off any assistance. But he couldn’t; he felt like he had been struck by lightning and could only look up at the source of the electricity, stunned into immobility and humbled and awed.

A sheepish, dimpled smile met his eyes. Soft, pink lips were moving, a flattened oval shifting into a sharper, broader circle and back again before widening out, the sequence dissolving, and then it occurred to Phil that the lips were forming a word that he ought to have been able to hear.

“Sorry,” the mouth was saying, so Phil blinked himself back into reality, taking in the rest of the face: a young man, probably a bit younger than Phil. Brown eyes, with a matching fringe that was swept over his forehead in the opposite direction as Phil’s. To anyone else, he might have been plain-looking. But to Phil, it was like staring directly into the sun.

“Sorry,” the young man repeated, a little louder and more concerned. Phil gave his head a little shake to clear it. He sounded vaguely familiar, like something Phil had once heard in a dream.

“My fault,” Phil muttered, grabbing napkins from the barista and beginning to mop up the coffee.

“No, it was me, too,” the stranger insisted, joining the effort and merely succeeding in smearing the coffee across the counter with a broad stroke; the liquid didn’t absorb quickly enough, and the excess launched off the edge and down Phil’s jeans.

“Oh my god, I’m  _so_ sorry,” the young man said, immediately reaching down to press one of the sopping napkins to Phil’s thigh, very nearly missing Phil’s crotch in his haste, and people were staring, including the barista.

“Mate,  _hold on,”_ Phil said, slightly panicked, reaching to grab the napkins out of his hand. Their fingers brushed again, sending an inexplicable shimmer of heat through Phil’s hand, and then the napkins went fluttering - well, plopping was probably more accurate - to the floor.

“This is a nightmare,” Phil heard the stranger say, in a horrified whisper. “What’re you made of, balloons? That can’t be a normal level of static electricity.”

So he felt it, too.

“Erm, no?” Phil replied, at a loss. The barista had returned from a trip to the back, armed with towels, handed one to each Phil and the stranger, and then flopped the remaining one onto the counter. They both reached to help her, and she just shook her head.

“That’s okay, I’ve got it,” she said, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “You’ll both have new coffees momentarily. Sort yourselves out.”

Phil couldn’t help but feel guilty about holding up the queue of people, but most of them looked amused rather than irritated, as though they were pleased that their coffee came with a show.

Phil sighed, blotting the towel against his damp jeans and peeking up at the young man every few seconds.

“Okay, here we are,” the barista said, exchanging the towels for coffees.

“Thank you. I’m really sorry about the mess,” Phil said, but the barista waved him off.

He sidestepped out of the way, towards his booth, trying to ignore all of the eyes on his back. He only cared about one set, brown and deep and fringed with dark lashes.

Taking a deep breath, he went to ask the young man to drink the coffee with him, potential harm to his laptop be damned. But when Phil turned around, Lightning Boy was gone.

x

As it turned out, Phil’s trip to the coffee shop had been entirely for naught. He had wanted to compose a first draft of his essay, but after the coffee debacle, the barista kept shooting him dirty looks, so he felt too awkward to stay.  

He reluctantly packed up his things, keeping his head down, as he trekked out into the bitter cold to make his way to the library. He could probably find a useful book or two while he was there.

Something at the back of his mind wanted him to stay in case the electric stranger showed up. But Phil knew it was unlikely that he’d ever run into the young man again, much less twice in the same day.

Research was slow going, and Phil’s internet searches only turned up results for obscure books. As much as he appreciated the feel of real books, they did not come with a control + F feature. He sighed, scribbling the name of the book on a piece of paper and taking it up to the information desk.

A severe-looking man with sharp eyes and an even sharper jaw line was sitting on the rolling chair, surveying the library with a hawk-like gaze, as if he was daring someone to go up and ask him a question.

Phil came to a stop in front of him, probably several paces too far away to be acceptable, but he couldn’t bring himself to move any closer to knives-for-eyes.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, in a quiet, clipped tone, and damn, even his voice sounded like it had angles.

“I’m looking for a book,” Phil said, slightly too loudly, and the librarian’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Imagine that. Title?”

“Um, yeah, this one,” Phil replied, inching forward and holding out the little slip of paper for the librarian to read. But his sleeve got caught inside his jacket, which moved up his arm as he extended his his reach, revealing his tattoo.

The librarian’s harsh eyes went directly to it, and the man breathed written word for a living - there was no way, no matter how quickly Phil pulled back his arm, that hawk-eyes wouldn’t be able to discern three simple letters in a few seconds time. There was a long silence, a silent intake of breath that just held and held, and the man’s gaze darkened, roiling like storm clouds behind the thin sheen of his glasses.

“We don’t have it,” he said, without even looking at the paper, his frame going rigid. There was no hint of apology in his voice. Phil pulled his sleeve as far down as it would go.

“I understand,” Phil said, his spine stiff as a board, holding the librarian’s gaze. No pretense. No ‘thanks, anyway.’

He turned on his heel and slunk back to his table, his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight. The prospect of searching alone for the book he needed, in the enormity of the library, seemed incredibly daunting.

x

Even though he’d started two weeks before the due date, Phil finished his essay with three minutes to spare, and decided to reward himself with a much-needed short coma and a trip to Louise’s the next day.

Jack answered the door, as if it were totally normal to invite people into someone else’s house. That was pretty commonplace, though; Louise’s flat was essentially Jack’s second home.

“Alright, Phil?” Jack greeted him with a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, kinda tired. But that’s a primary aspect of my personality at this point,” Phil said, flopping onto the couch heavily. “Where’s Louise?”

“Putting Darcy down for a nap. Want anything? Cup of tea or something?”

“No, thanks. I think I’m going to grab a coffee later.”

“We have plenty of coffee. Matt’s got a caffeine problem.”

Phil snorted. Matt had a caffeine problem, sure, but at least he wasn’t hanging out at the same overcrowded coffee shop every day for two weeks straight in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Lightning Boy.

“I won’t take any of his, then. Water’s fine.”

“Coming right up,” Jack said, disappearing into the kitchen.

Not thirty seconds later, Louise emerged from the hall.

“Has Jack been offering you my food as though it’s his own?” Louise asked.

“Matt’s coffee, actually.”

“Typical,” she said, but she was smiling, and opened her arms for a hug. Phil levered himself off the sofa and gave her a squeeze.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“Alright,” Phil replied. Louise pulled back from the embrace to look Phil in the face, reaching up to brush the fringe out of his eyes.

“Just alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling at his sleeve reflexively, and Louise’s eyes softened. She took a seat on the couch and patted the space next to her.

“Talk to me,” she encouraged, and Phil sat down.

“Well, erm. I wanted to ask you something, actually, but it’s kind of personal.”

Louise blinked, entirely unfazed, before realising that that required a response.

“Well, go on, then.”

“Erm. Did you… feel anything? When you met Jack? Like, physically?”

“What d’you mean?” she asked, shaking the bracelets on her left hand so she could peek at Jack’s name there.

“It sounds a bit weird, but it’s not meant to… I mean, when you touched. Skin on skin, directly. Was there some kind of…I dunno. It sounds dumb to say, straight out of some trashy romance novel, but a spark? Like you touched a metal chair and got shocked, but nicer than that.”

Louise’s brows knitted together, and she frowned a little.

“No, don’t think so. Don’t recall ever feeling something like that.”

“Oh. Right then,” Phil said, biting his lip.

“Why do you ask?”

Phil swallowed.

“Well, I bumped hands with this guy at a coffee shop, and it felt like I’d been shocked. It was a little jarring, to be honest. Didn’t learn his name so I dunno if he’s,” Phil glanced at his wrist, “You know. But I know he felt it too, and I didn’t drag my feet against any carpets or anything.”

Louise chuckled, and Jack joined in on her laughter when he returned, glass of water in hand.

“So  _that’s_ why you refused a coffee, eh?” Jack teased, handing Phil the glass.

“Jack, be nice,” Louise chastised. “And stop giving away my food.”

Jack just shrugged, plopping on an armchair.

“It’s not food. Just water. And I can vouch for the fact that there is no electric or magnetic or nuclear charge going on here,” he said, gesturing between himself and Louise.  

“Nuclear?” Louise asked, amused.

“Just covering all the bases,” Jack said.

“I see,” Phil said, glancing a bit nervously at Jack before turning to Louise. “What about with you and Matt?”

Louise went quiet for a moment.

“Phil, you know Matt and I aren’t soulmates. I’m not exactly the best person to be asking.”

“Yeah, I just don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“Your parents, maybe?” Jack offered.

“Don’t particularly want to bring it up to them. The potential for mental scarring is too great. Not willing to risk it.”

“You don’t know of anyone else who’s found their soulmate?” Louise asked.

“Just PJ, but he’s got three names and he’s only met one of them.”

Jack sighed.

“Personally, I want to speak with whomever developed this system. It’s supposed to be simple. One plus one equals soulmates.”

“People aren’t so two-dimensional,” Phil said, very quietly.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Louise agreed.

As though on cue, Darcy cried out, her piercing little wails blaring plaintively through the baby monitor on the coffee table.

“Your daughter needs you,” Louise said to Jack.

“She’s only  _my_  daughter when she cries,” Jack said, but stood up anyway. “When she does the cute shit, then she’s  _yours_. In what world is that fair?”

“My world. My house. My coffee. Your turn.”

Phil stifled a laugh behind his hand as Jack trudged away.

“You’d think it’d be easy, what with Darcy having, essentially, three parents,” Louise said, rolling her eyes.

            “Imagine what it’ll be like for PJ when he finally figures his situation out,” Phil said, and Louise looked positively horrified.

“I hope he doesn’t want children. It’s too many people. Too many,” she trailed off, muttering to herself under her breath. “Who’d be in charge of diaper changes? Food for a small army. That’s making my brain hurt.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “PJ is on some other level. The prospect of finding  _one_  person is terrifying to me. I can’t imagine three.”

Louise shrugged. “My two kind of just showed up. Entirely uninvited, I might add,” she said, just as Jack returned.

“We make do,” he said. “And if anyone,  _Matt’s_ the one who was uninvited. I was hand-picked by the fates to annoy you. Then I guess the world wanted to apologize.”

“As it should have.”

“Imagine when I have a wife,” Jack said. “It’ll be just like a sitcom.”

“I stand by the fact that I’m the only woman alive who’d be willing to put up with you,” Louise said playfully.

“I thought I’d be the only man for you, but here we are,” Jack said, feigning wistfulness.

Louise rolled her eyes, turning to Phil again.

“Point is, the system’s a bit flawed. Maybe this electricity thing only happens sometimes. I dunno. But the only way to find out is to seek out this Mystery Man.”

Phil pulled out his phone to check the time.

“Suppose I should get going, then.”

x

_May, 2007_

Nearly five months passed before Phil saw Lightning Boy again. The barista who had dealt with their coffee mishap, Lucy, had grown extremely accustomed to Phil’s presence. But she always handled coffee carefully around him; she might have forgiven, but she never forgot.

Lucy had also reassured him that he didn’t have to buy something  _every_ time he came to the shop. All of the employees knew that he was a regular customer, so he wouldn’t be accused of loitering. He went every single day, and had punched through so many loyalty cards he could build a house with them, and she had been concerned for the state of his wallet. But Phil insisted on it most of the time.

He hadn’t planned on ordering anything that day, but as soon as Lightning Boy walked through the door, the little bell tinkling above his head, adrenaline surged through Phil’s body and he skipped to the front of the line.

“Phil, what’re you doing?” Lucy said, shaking her head, and she peeked past him to look at the next customer. Evidently, she recognized Lightning Boy too, and her eyes darted from Phil to him and back.

“Two caramel macchiatos, please,” Phil said before he lost his nerve. The young man frowned at Phil in apparent confusion before their eyes met. Recognition flashed over his face.

“Oh, hi,” he said shyly. Phil smiled at him.

“Right,” Lucy said, a bit louder than necessary. “You two are getting towels with your drinks.”

Phil paid for both drinks, and Lightning Boy frowned at him.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I insist,” Phil replied. “As an apology for last time and as an invitation for you to join me.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows but said nothing, nodding as she got to work on their coffee. Phil could see the gears turning in her head as she slowly figured out, glancing surreptitiously back at the two of them once or twice.

“Alright,” Lightning Boy agreed. “Thanks.”

Phil’s entire being heaved an inward sigh of relief. He had been psyching himself up for this moment for months, completely sure that the young man would refuse, or, worse, take his coffee and make a run for it.

Lucy called Phil over to pick up their drinks, and she was not kidding about the towels. She kept one on the side of the counter, and made a point to hand one cup to each of them separately. An extra towel was slung over her shoulder, which Phil thought might be overkill, just a bit.

Lightning Boy followed Phil to his booth and sat across from him, shyly staring down at his cup.

“So… you come here often?” he said, and then rolled his eyes, presumably at himself.

“Every day, actually,” Phil replied. “The Wi-Fi and the coffee are good. And, I was kind of hoping I’d bump into you again.”

Lightning Boy snorted.

“That’d probably be dangerous for all involved, considering our propensity for spilling hot liquids everywhere.”

Phil laughed. “That’s true. Anyway, erm, my name’s Phil, by the way.”

“My name’s Dan,” he said, and it was like Phil had swallowed a hot coal. Everything stilled as the pieces came together - as they had been, slowly, but suddenly all at once it was real - this boy, with the fringe and the coffee-brown eyes and the long legs, this was  _his_ Dan. The Dan he had been hearing in his head all his life, the Dan who had been selected to be his other half.

Phil’s Dan.

Phil immediately reached out to touch his own wrist, but stopped himself as he saw that both of Dan’s wrists were clean of any names. Phil had inferred that Dan wasn’t eighteen - he had a young, rounded face that he hadn’t quite grown into yet - but, as he was quickly learning, the possibilities were endless.

“Nice to meet you,” Phil said when he had composed himself. Dan’s eyes had followed as Phil fidgeted, and he looked a bit suspicious.

“You as well,” Dan said carefully, offering his hand to shake.

They both hesitated when their hands were not a centimetre away from touching, locking eyes and making a silent agreement to try it. Phil sucked in a quiet breath.

Dan’s fingers slid into his palm, and he shuddered, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Judging by Phil’s reaction, one might have guessed Dan’s hand was ice cold, but it wasn’t - it was warm. But it wasn’t a physical warmth; Dan’s hand felt like the sun on his skin, a gentle and pervasive light-based heat that made a person want to close their eyes and revel in the majesty and simplicity of a burning star.

“What  _is_  that?” Dan muttered, their hand still clasped.

 _We’re soulmates,_ Phil wanted to say, but Dan’s empty wrists made him hesitate. Better for him to find out on his own.

“I dunno,” Phil said. “It’s kind of nice.”

Dan’s mouth quirked up on one side, playful fascination in his eyes.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

Phil barely felt in control of his own actions - like there was some secondary force determining how he interacted with Dan. Magnetism, gravity, fate - who knew? All he knew was that it felt right to lower their hands to the table and slip his fingers between Dan’s. Dan didn’t seem to mind; he eyed their clasped hands with idle curiosity as the heat between them seemed to amplify.

But then he blinked rapidly, as though coming out of a trance, and pulled his hand away like Phil had shocked him. Maybe he had.

“Sorry,” Dan said, rubbing his hands together.

“No, it’s okay,” Phil said, his cheeks growing hot. “I shouldn’t have done that, we barely know each other -”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Dan said, not making eye contact. “Kinda felt right, I understand. It kinda feels like we  _do_ know each other, even though we don’t, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Phil replied.  _I feel like our souls are connected but I don’t know anything about you._

“So let’s fix it,” Phil continued, and Dan finally looked up. He gave Phil a small smile.

“Alright. You first.”

Phil shifted in his seat a bit, feeling like a child on the first day of school.

“Erm. I’m Phil Lester. I’m nineteen - born and raised here in Manchester. Seems I couldn’t get enough of it, because I’m at Manchester Uni doing English. I’ve got an older brother and no hamsters. Which is sad, because I’d much rather have no older brother and many hamsters.”

Dan laughed, a loud witch-cackle, before he nodded.

“I dunno why that’s so funny. I had a hamster as a child. She was the most self-aware animal you’d ever meet. It was really eerie.”

Phil giggled, and waited patiently for Dan to continue. Dan sat up a little straighter.

“Well, I’m Dan Howell. I’m seventeen, going to start at Manchester Uni in the fall. I occasionally come up north to visit my friend Chris. I live in Reading with my parents and younger brother, and they’d all be horrified that I’m giving out so much personal information to a stranger.” Dan snorted.

“That’s not personal stuff. Personal is like - what’s your greatest fear?” Phil had meant it as an example, but Dan answered anyway.

“Trees in the dark. Also the endless void that is the callous universe in which we live.”

Phil raised his eyebrows.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be so jaded?”

Dan rolled his eyes.

“Oh,  _come on,_ I turn eighteen next month. You’re not that much older than me.”

Phil raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry. Just wondering if there’s a reason for that.”

Dan sighed, running his finger around the rim of his coffee cup.

“I guess. But you don’t wanna hear about my personal drama.”

Phil frowned, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Sure I do, if you need someone to listen. Like you said, we don’t know each other. I’m unbiased.”

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a lie. But Phil really did care about what was bothering Dan - not just because of the whole soulmate thing, but also out of compassion.

Dan sighed again, running a hand through his fringe and arranging it to the appropriate level of pretentious dishevelment. Just like Phil always did.

“My girlfriend turned eighteen. Name on her wrist wasn’t ‘Dan’. Was actually my closest friend’s name, but we don’t need to get into  _that_.” Dan said, his eyes on the table.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” Phil said softly. Something similar had happened with Jack and his ex-girlfriend. Once Louise’s name showed up on Jack’s wrist, she dumped him. Didn’t matter to her that Jack and Louise’s relationship wasn’t romantic.

“I’ll get over it, I guess,” Dan said, shrugging and turning his left wrist over, “once her name shows up here. Or someone else’s, I guess. Just not a guy.”

Phil blanched, swallowing a large gulp of coffee to cover up his surprise.  _Her? Not a guy? Dan’s going to be in for a real shock._

“Yeah, I hope it works out for you,” Phil said, coughing, because the coffee was still too hot to drink. It was scalding heat, not Dan heat.

“Thanks,” Dan said, his eyes lingering on Phil’s concealer. Although it’d be in poor taste for Dan to ask Phil about it, Phil understood his curiosity.

“Hasn’t quite worked out for me yet,” Phil said. “So I prefer to keep it covered up.”

Dan nodded sympathetically and didn’t pry.

They quietly sipped their coffee for a few minutes, but it wasn’t awkward. They occasionally made eye contact and gave the other a small smile, but other than that, they were simply content to be in the other’s company.

It was Dan who broke the silence with a few more classic ‘getting to know you’ questions, which Phil was happy to answer. It turned out that they had a lot in common, but still disagreed about a lot of silly things.

“Okay, you’d have to be  _mental_ to say that Mario would beat Sonic in a fight,” Dan groaned.

“He’s got the power of his overalls!”

“What’s so special about his overalls?”

“They’re…” Phil paused for effect, and sing-songed, “Denim denim denim.”

Dan stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“Get it? It sounds like the sound that plays when you enter a castle in a Mario game…?”

Dan shook his head, but he was holding back a smile.

“You’re so weird.”

Phil grinned, because that was the highest compliment Dan could pay him. 

x

They wound up staying in the cafe talking until closing, at which point Lucy looked reluctant to kick them out.

Dan said that Chris had sent him about a million worried texts asking where the fuck his coffee was, so Dan left after giving Phil his number.

“So,” Lucy said when they were the last two people in the shop. “Am I never going to see you again now that Dimples McGee finally showed up?”

Phil went bright red, wondering if it was that obvious.

“Sure you will. Just maybe not every day,” Phil murmured.

“I can live with that,” she said, opening the shop door for Phil so she could lock it behind him. “See you around.”

“See you.”

x

_June, 2007_

Phil wouldn’t say he fell in love with Dan. That was too simplistic, too Nicholas Sparks. It was like he’d  _been_ in love with Dan all his life without knowing it, and now that he’d met him, Phil had merely suddenly become aware of it. That was probably the point of ‘soulmates’, he reasoned, but the word did the feeling no justice.

For an English major, he was surprisingly short on words. Especially since he was swallowing them all the time - it was the hardest thing in the world not to just blurt it out over their many cups of coffee, so difficult to bite back the words that were constantly poised on the back of his tongue just behind whatever he was saying, or lingering in his throat when he wasn’t speaking -  _you’re my soulmate_.

He could hardly stand to wait for Dan’s birthday, when his own name would appear on Dan’s skin, and he wouldn’t have to hold back anymore. He had pictured the moment in his mind dozens of times, and in each imaginary scenario, Dan had been taken aback but ultimately thrilled. Everything clicked into place. A satisfying, perfect fit, like finally adding the last piece to a puzzle.

So when Dan suggested they spend his birthday together, Phil leapt at the offer.

“You can even stay the night at my flat if you want. If you want to be here at midnight, anyway,” Phil said to Dan’s image on his computer screen.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I could use the moral support.”

“Oh, come on,” Phil said, aiming for teasing but probably missing the mark by a few centimetres. “Maybe it won’t even be her.”

“I dunno. As long as it’s not a man,” Dan joked, and it was like a knife to Phil’s heart, but Dan pressed on, unawares.

“Who else could it be but her, really?”

 _Me,_  Phil thought, and it was so surreal to hear Dan’s voice in his head while he was literally speaking to him.

“I read some study that said that only thirty percent of people know their soulmates before they turn eighteen,” Phil said instead. “Besides, wouldn’t you kind of know already? I mean, what about the voice in your head? Does it sound like her?”

For a moment, Phil thought that the screen had frozen. That was how still and silent Dan suddenly fell.

“It sounds like me,” Dan said quietly. “Not exactly like my speaking voice, but yeah. I’ve never thought of it as anything other than my own voice.”

Phil couldn’t help it - he stared for a moment, trying his best not to make a face. He couldn’t even imagine it, having his  _own_ voice in his head. Wasn’t that lonely?

“I always hear people talking about how they hear someone else’s voice, but that doesn’t make sense to me. I can’t imagine it. I just hear…me.”

Dan paused.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Phil opened and closed his mouth several times, but couldn’t articulate a response. He had no idea what that meant.

“I know it’s weird,” Dan murmured.

“It’s not,” Phil replied, much too quickly, and he watched as Dan’s face fell. “No, Dan, listen, it’s really not. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it.”

“Yeah, like what?” Dan asked, a little scathingly.

“I - I don’t know. But I’m sure there’s a reason.”

Dan sighed.

“I guess. Maybe it’ll change when I get my tattoo?”

“Maybe,” Phil agreed. “This whole process is slightly different for everyone. But it’ll be fine, and so will you.”

Dan nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced.

“I’m gonna go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Okay. Try not to worry about it, Dan. Everything will work out.”

Phil hoped it was true.

x

Since the plans had been so last minute, Phil spent the entire day rushing around and gathering all the stuff he’d need: some balloons; a couple of bright party streamers, which he hung from the ceiling of his flat, in the most aesthetically pleasing manner he could manage; and a cake, which Phil had made himself - poorly, truth be told - with Dan’s name written in uneven, scrawling letters in globby icing.

And then there was his present to Dan.

“What is it?” Dan asked eagerly as he ripped the paper off of the box.

“Well, finish opening it and you’ll find out.”

Dan stuck his tongue out at Phil as he crumpled the paper and tossed it to the side, flipping the box over so he could see what was inside. His face lit up.

“A plasma ball?! You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“Do you like it?” Phil murmured, unable to gauge that reaction.

“Are you kidding? It’s awesome! Not to mention easily the cleverest present I’ve ever received,” Dan said with a sly grin.

“I thought it might remind you of me,” Phil teased. “Shall we test it out now?”

Dan glanced at the clock. 9:37pm.

“Yeah. We’ve got time.”

He hastily unboxed his gift, flippantly tossing the directions over his shoulder.

“Instructions are for cheaters.”

Phil laughed, shaking his head. He would indulge Dan this time.

Once they got it plugged in and operational, Dan gave Phil the honour of touching it first.

“Go on, then,” Dan said, gesturing towards it.

“Let’s see how it matches up to the real thing,” Phil said, wiggling his fingers before pressing his index finger to the ball. The little purple tendrils of light licked along the inside of the glass, arching and shivering, and the feeling was remarkably similar - heat without heat, inexplicable and illusory.

“Well?” Dan asked.

“See for yourself.”

Dan tentatively placed his finger on it, and flinched back after a few moments.

“Not as nice of a feeling,” he decided.

“Could we make a circuit, I wonder?” Phil thought aloud, pressing his hand on the ball and offering the other to Dan. Dan took his hand, and he was practically tingling with electricity.

“What now?”

“You touch the ball too.”

“Touch the ball?”

“Touch it.”

They both giggled before Dan did as he was told.

“…Now what?”

“Now we’ve made a circuit,” Phil declared.

“That’s so interesting, Phil. I’m so glad we’ve made a circuit.”

“Shut up,” Phil said, taking his hand off the plasma ball, but leaving his other hand intertwined with Dan’s. They held hands sometimes, in private, with a mutual understanding that it just felt  _nice._ They didn’t talk about it, didn’t make a big deal out of it, but every so often one of them would just reach out and take the other’s hand.

And so, they sat in an easy silence, fingers entwined as Phil watched Dan play with the plasma ball, Dan’s face lit up in childlike amusement as he tapped his fingers along the surface, one by one, watching the little arcs of light leap from one finger to the next.

“I’m probably melting my fingerprints off or something,” Dan murmured.

“You’ll get away with all the crimes.”

“Could just wear gloves, Phil.”

“You wouldn’t need them.”

Dan rolled his eyes before his gaze settled back on Phil, every plane of his face relaxed and smooth, a small, shy smile curving his lips.

A little sloe-eyed prince.

Phil smiled back, running his thumb over Dan’s.

“How much time’s left?” Phil asked. Dan face fell a little, and he checked the clock.

“T-minus two hours.”

“D’you want to watch a film?” Phil offered.

“Okay,” Dan agreed. “Might distract me a little.”

x

With less than a minute to go, Dan was practically shaking.

They were sitting on the edge of Phil’s bed, still like statues. Phil kept a tight hold on Dan’s right hand, as there was no keeping Dan from staring at his left wrist.

“Oh god, I’m so nervous,” Dan muttered. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“Be sick to your left, then,” Phil joked, but Dan had no reaction.

Dan’s rapid breathing and the sound of the clock ticking were the only noises in the room as the second hand made its way to the twelve.

Midnight.

Dan and Phil stared at Dan’s wrist, both holding their breath. Seconds ticked past, and nothing happened. Dan’s eyes darted from his skin to the clock and back rapidly.

“Maybe the clock’s a little off,” Phil said quietly.

One minute. Then two. Then five.

“Phil, something’s wrong,” Dan said, and his tone raised the hairs on Phil’s arms. “Something is  _wrong.”_

“Maybe it’s not actually your birthday?”

Dan immediately fumbled to take out his phone, quickly dialing a number and tapping his leg impatiently while it rang.

“Mum?” he said. “Mum, no, wake up, listen. I need you to wake up. It’s important. Are you sure the eleventh is my birthday?”

Dan paused, and Phil could hear the tinny sound of his mother saying something on the other end.

“Well, yeah, I know you were there. But, I dunno, could you have got the date wrong, or something?”

Dan’s mother said something else, and Phil could see the panic really begin to set in.

“No, Mum - it  _has_ to be wrong because it’s my eighteenth birthday and there’s nothing there.”

A pause.

“No, there’s no name. I’m so confused. I just -” Dan cut himself off, keeping his voice rigid and enunciating his words carefully. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep, Mum. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Okay. Night.”

Dan finally turned to face Phil, his eyes wide and glassy.

“Could it be somewhere else?” he whispered.

“I’ve never heard of it being anywhere else. But you could look?” Phil said cautiously. He felt horrible for possibly feeding Dan false hopes. But if he had anything else to offer, he would have.

It was a sudden movement, Dan’s elbow nearly flying into Phil’s chin as he yanked off his shirt, throwing it to the floor and looking up and down his arms.

“Do you have a mirror? Check my back. Check!”

Phil’s eyes scanned the plane of Dan’s back, which, while smooth and pale and achingly beautiful, was perfectly clear of anything except a few freckles. Phil’s skin was crawling and a fathomless, sinking unease pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Nothing,” he said, quietly.

A tiny, broken sob escaped Dan’s lips as he doubled over, burying his face in his hands.

“How can there be nothing?”

“I don’t know,” Phil murmured. Dan jerked upwards again, his movements frenetic, frenzied, until he locked eyes with Phil again and suddenly stilled.

“I haven’t got a soulmate,” he said, his voice riddled with utter disbelief. “I haven’t got one. That’s it. I’m alone,” he whispered, his throat closing up around the last word and tears flowing freely from his eyes.

Phil wanted to tell him that he wasn’t alone, that he would always be there for Dan. He wanted to rip the concealer off of his wrist and prove it, but it felt wrong. Everything about this felt wrong.

“Am I broken?” Dan whispered, and Phil could feel his heart shattering into pieces.

“No,” Phil said quietly, but he knew the word meant nothing, so he reached forward to gather Dan into his arms, pulling him into his chest. But it only made Dan cry harder, so Phil shied away. But Dan pressed into him, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck and burying his face in the crook of his shoulder, clinging to him like he was his only lifeline.

In truth, he was.

“Come and lay down,” Phil said gently, pulling the duvet back and scooting so he could tuck Dan under it. Dan slumped onto Phil’s pillow, like the life had suddenly drained out of him, and didn’t protest as Phil took him into his arms and tossed the covers over them. Dan’s arms snaked around Phil’s torso, his fingers fisting into Phil’s shirt, and Phil tucked his chin over Dan’s head, tracing aimless patterns onto Dan’s bare back.

Phil felt unutterably selfish for thinking of himself when his other half was in so much pain, but that was just it - why hadn’t Phil’s name appeared on Dan’s wrist? Phil had never heard of non-reciprocal soulmates before, and he couldn’t have been more sure that  _this_ Dan was the one he was meant to find.

But if that was the case,  _where was his name?_

He had never fully realised how much weight the name could carry, until he watched Dan crumble underneath the immensity of its  _absence_. Phil had been terrified of having a male soulmate, and with good reason, but he knew that he wouldn’t have to face the inevitable stares and judgment alone. At the end of the day, it would all be worth it, because he’d have someone by his side, gender be damned.

But…to have no one?

His heart felt hollow at the thought of it, and he could only imagine the emptiness Dan was feeling. He swore he could hear it echo with each of Dan’s shaky breaths.

Phil looked down, reaching to brush the hair out of Dan’s eyes, but he was already asleep, though his chest still hitched with every inhale. He had never looked so young, so fragile, as he did encased in Phil’s arms, his smooth cheeks streaked with tears. Little droplets of moisture clung to Dan’s eyelashes, glittering in the half-light of the bedroom, ethereal and captivating.

Maybe he was aromantic, Phil pondered, brushing his thumb idly over Dan’s cheekbone. He’d heard that that sometimes happened - no romantic attraction, no soulmate, simple as that. But then he remembered Jack and Louise, and that soulmates needn’t be romantically attracted. They were a couple for a while, because they thought that, as soulmates, it was the thing to do. But by the time Louise was pregnant with Darcy, they knew it wasn’t going to work.

That couldn’t have been the case with Dan, though. He had been in love with his last girlfriend.

Maybe - and it was a big giant maybe, because Phil didn’t really want to consider anyone else as Dan’s soulmate - his soulmate had died. It would make sense that there was no name, because once someone’s other half died, the tattoo disappeared. But he was so young, and it was just so  _unlikely_.

Phil stared down at Dan, tracing the contours of his face with his gaze, marking the little curve of his nose and the soft peach fuzz on the lobe of his ear, taking in the delicate plush of his mouth and committing it all to memory.

 _Maybe he’s an alien,_  Phil hazarded.  _A soul-crushingly beautiful space alien._

Phil squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of something,  _anything_ he could do to make the situation easier. He glanced at his own wrist and the flesh-coloured bandage that hid Dan’s name.

Dan could never find out, Phil decided. If Phil wanted to protect him from thinking that there was something wrong with him, then he could never know that he was supposed to be Phil’s soulmate.

Phil couldn’t keep his tattoo covered up forever. Etiquette be damned, Dan would find out what was under that concealer eventually. And if Phil really loved Dan, he couldn’t let him. Dan had made his opinion on having a male soulmate very clear - that he didn’t want one. And Phil wasn’t about to spring that on him after the night’s events.

There was only one option left, really.

x

The following morning had been strangely anticlimactic. Both Dan and Phil were totally drained, not saying much, sluggish and heavy in their movements: Dan from his emotional break the previous night, and Phil because of what he had resolved himself to doing.

He’d left his flat not five minutes after seeing Dan off, making him promise to stay in touch throughout the day - the last thing he needed was Dan trying to drown himself in a cup of coffee. Dan had obediently sent a text to Phil, stating that he’d made it onto the train. It came through just as Phil entered the shop, and very nearly crumbled his resolve. But he’d forced himself to stand up straight as he approached the woman at the desk.

“It’s a really simple procedure,” she’d said, smiling far too broadly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on into the back. Follow me. It should only take about fifteen minutes. There’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart.”

It took ten minutes and no more.

As Phil stepped back out onto the street, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, he felt simultaneously lighter but also overwhelmingly heavier, and he reflexively went to pull his sleeve over his wrist. But then he remembered it was summertime, and all he had to hide now was the ugly scar where Dan’s name used to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Update - February 2017  
> Sam and I love this story, but neither of us have had the time or dedication that this universe deserves for a long time. I can’t say whether or not it will be continued, but I feel I can speak for both of us when I say that we’d love to work on it again someday.


End file.
